Earthquake
by gingerchangeling
Summary: Sometimes, in order for something to be remade, it needs to be shaken down to its very foundations.


He couldn't help but suck in a deep breath of relief. The deck was finally blissfully silent since the last of the Lost Ones had retreated below. The only sounds that disturbed the silence were the wind across the bow, the thrumming of the stays, the flapping of the sails, and the groans of the planks beneath his feet. The music of the only symphony he ever needed to hear.

But he was still apprehensive. There was much that could go wrong. The Shadow could get loose. The Lost Boys could decide that they really didn't want a home after all. Too many variables. The only assurance he would allow was that Pan had been dealt with.

But even though he'd been trapped, Pan's visit had taken its toll on everyone, himself included. But it seemed none more so than Swan. Despite her best efforts, he'd seen her guilt written clearly on her face. Guilt that her son was there at all. Guilt that she couldn't protect him. Guilt that even after they'd found him, she still couldn't keep him safe.

She'd been unable to hide it from her parents, either. They'd reached out to her to offer comfort and assurance. She'd reacted just as he thought she would, jerking away, glancing at them both with a wary displeasure. When Henry had started to settle back down, Swan stared at him, her brow puckering. But eventually the boy had settled and she'd turned and left without a word.

Her parents seemed mystified by her actions, and the others in the cabin did little to disguise their various reactions to her abrupt departure. The Evil Queen and the Crocodile both sneered at the now-empty doorway, and Baelfire gazed after her with something in between longing and lust.

Suddenly the air was too thick, too much history suddenly coming out of the woodwork of the Captain's cabin, and he'd made his way up to the helm, where he'd been since. He had considered going to Swan, because he knew where she'd fled to, but he decided to let her be for now. He was needed at the helm anyway.

The Lost Boys had still been scurrying around on the fore and mid decks, shooting him wary looks as they continued whatever play they were engaged in. Then, of course, the royals had come back up on deck, and he'd spent the passing hours wishing for silence.

And now he finally had it.

He kept a wary eye on the surroundings, the perpetual twilight of the Neverland sky reminding him constantly of the potential danger they could still face. But even as his eyes charted the unseen lines across the sea and sky, keeping them true to their course, his heart longed to go to Swan and perhaps offer her some sort of strength or comfort, as he had the last time he'd sought her out below decks.

_Her parents had taken her shivering, below decks, but he could see the hesitance in her face and how her shoulders rolled inward, away from the desperate hands that sought to soothe her. He had noticed that the harder the prince and princess tried to push their affection upon her, the more Swan resisted. _

_As night waned, he had paced the deck, checking the rigging after the demon she-fish's summoned storm. As he made his way to the upper foredeck, he heard it, rattling up from the foremost crew's quarters. A place he had definitely not offered to those on board. He noticed that as his footfalls approached, the coughing quieted, as if whomever was below didn't want him to hear. _

_He decided to test his theory, and paced away, letting his feet fall heavily on the planks. Once he had gone past where he knew that section of the crew quarters ended, he turned and lightly stepped back to where he had been standing, making sure to keep to the boards he knew didn't make noise._

_And sure enough, the cough continued, deep and rough, the kind that he knew ripped apart the throat and chest so that every breath hurt. He was about to step away to head below to offer her help, because he knew on instinct that it was Swan, when he heard something he didn't think was possible._

_Swan was crying. Sobbing softly between coughs, she sounded as if she was falling to pieces. "Please, God, I don't know if you exist here in fucking Neverland, or anywhere, or if you'd even bother listening to a broken piece of shit like me. But please, help me find my son. I can't… I can't lose him again. I need to find him. I can't afford to be sick. I can't be we…" her desperate prayer broke off into another vicious cough._

_He felt his heart ache, his gut lurching painfully, recalling another woman under the same decks who would wake screaming in the night and dissolve into sobs of a similar nature, begging anything that would listen to keep her son safe and to forgive her for leaving him. _

_Foolish as he'd been then, he thought that such beings, if there were any, would take pity on the likes of grieving mothers. But he'd long since learned that if any such gods did exist, they did not care for the lives of those under their charge. _

_As he continued to walk away, he heard her break into another bought of chest coughs. His heart clenched, knowing there was only so much he could do for her. Any potion he had that might help would probably be turned away, with Swan still distrusting him as she did, and may even make it worse, volatile as the cause of the cough was._

_The waters of Neverland were as full of enchantments as the island itself. The Jolly protected those on her decks from the magic in the seas, but since Swan had taken a dive straight into the waves, without an anchor to the ship, she had made herself vulnerable to the enchantments that swirled in the dark waters._

_It was a situation compounded by the water she had inhaled after the rigging pulley had knocked her unconscious. When the prince had brought her back up onto the deck, soaking wet and still as stone, he could not help the violent, belly-clenching, heart-stilling wave of horror that washed over him. _

_It was more than simple concern for her. It was the strangest premonition that his entire future was laid out on the deck before him. Just as his past had been._

_**Once the demon had vanished into his plume of smoke, leaving only the rigging hook he'd managed to slam into the monster's chest gleaming in the dawning light, the true agony of his wound consumed him. **_

_**He collapsed to the planks beside his love, some tiny ember of hope still burning in his shattered soul, that if he just reached for her, she would reach back. If he just held her to his chest long enough, that the desperate beating of his heart would kindle the warmth back into her veins. **_

_**He couldn't be sure how long he lay clutching Milah's body to his chest. Time had ceased to have meaning for him, even then. He knew that several of his crew had tried to move her from him, but he could not say how many hours or days passed before her cold body stole whatever light his soul had left. **_

_**When he finally emerged, enlightened in his darkness, it was to the sight of coagulated blood smeared across the deck, black powder mixed with the red liquid. The small remaining part of his sanity shattered as he realized that his blood and Milah's crushed heart coated his decks.**_

_**The scream of horror and rage that left his throat silenced the entire dock. He can't remember what happened after that.**_

_**When he came to, he was in his quarters and his hand… his **_**stump**_** was bound. Starkey was sitting by his bedside, head bowed, elbows braced on his knees, a strange harness-looking piece of leather dangling from his fingers. He could vaguely remember trying to attack the man, a rage and grief so volatile within him that he was blind to reason. **_

_**It was only later that he learned that his loyal quartermaster had stayed by his bedside through the entirety of his sickness, a fever brought on by an infection of the wound. And that the man had never revealed the fever dreams that Killian had screamed and cried about in the nights when the ghosts emerged from the wooden planks of the ship. **_

_**It took another two days for him to have the strength to stand. But once he had, he refused to emerge as anything less than the perfect reflection of his soul: cold, black, and uncaring. He had what was left of his crew gathered, and when he stepped above decks for the first time, he was dressed in armor that he would never take off. The harness firmly in place, hardened leather and straps criss-crossing his skin under his shirt, as if designed to hold his soul in place within him, lest his whole being crumble to dust as his beloved's heart did, making his wound pound in agony with every beat of his blackened heart.**_

_**It took everything he had to not buckle under the weight of that armor when he saw his love laid out on the deck. How many times must his loved ones lay their heads down for their final rest upon the planks beneath him?**_

_**Once he stood beside her body, he knew that his soul would never heal from the black wound that now gaped open within it. He knew that his men were waiting for him to say something, to dispatch his love and their Lady with some sort of eloquent eulogy of her beauty, strength, and goodness. But he had nothing to say. There was no way he could speak those words to an empty shell. So he simply issued the command that the sails be sealed.**_

_**For a moment there was hesitation from his men, but when he raised his eyes to level them with a glare, they acted without another delay. The cloth closed over her face and he had to turn away as his men lifted her limp form onto the plank, glancing over only to give them a nod. **_

_**At least in that he was able to find the smallest modicum of peace. There would be no place better to lay his love to rest than in the sea that had flowed in her veins for so long. Now she would be able to rest forever below the waves she loved so dearly, forever able to lap at the horizon. **_

_**He had to close his eyes against the bile in his throat as he listened to her body slide limply into the sea. He anchored the rigging hook into place at the end of the brace that Starkey had made for him for the first time, the silver metal shining cruelly in the dying light. In that moment he knew that he had been buried in the sea with her and the man he had been was dead.**_

_He was pulled harshly from the nightmare of Milah's end when Swan began coughing up the water that had settled in her lungs, and he felt as if he was drawing breath for the first time, in spite of the thick air around them, when he watched her chest expand with a deep rattling breath. Relief washed over him. He swayed on his feet, trying to stay upright against the wave of painful emotions rolling through him, making it hard for him to stand. But despite the emotions that roiled within him, he couldn't help but smile as Swan's first words after nearly drowning were "I told you so."_

_Tough lass indeed._

The flapping of the sails brought him from his musings. He raised his eyes to the lowered sails, feeling a wash of revulsion at the black stain covering the foresail. As necessary as the captured Shadow was for their escape from the island, his stomach turned at the darkness covering his Jolly's white sail.

The Shadow was the thing he hated most about the island. Yes, the Lost Boys were demented little demons, and yes, Pan was a cruel child with a man's delight in depravity. But the Shadow, the Shadow was the worst of humanity refined. Because it instigated cruelty in a man without his knowledge. Nothing is more dangerous than something that can make a man do its desires while thinking that those desires were his own. Pan may rule the island, but the Shadow ruled Pan.

The Shadow was the thing that had come to him and his men in their sleep, when they had finally managed to block out the screams and curses of the children damned to live forever on the island. It haunted their nights with the darkest depths of their own depravity, unable to escape them in the morning light, so that the nightmarish days blended into the hellish nights.

He sighed, knowing that the next few days were going to be long ones of dedicated navigation and helmsmanship. The sea around the island was treacherous. The enchantment-laced waves could deceive a man into sailing into a circle or have a man sailing forever, always towards the island, even if they had kept their course steady with the island at their stern. He would know- he'd ended up doing both in his vain attempts to escape.

But with the added magic of the Shadow supplementing his Lady's own enchantments, they would be able to slip free of the island's grasp. However, his ship could not guide herself in such waters, and that meant a hand at the helm to hold her steady as she slowly made her way from surf to sky.

It was well into the night before he felt comfortable enough to finally relax. The falling of night in and of itself was an indication that they were slipping free of the island's grasp. The perpetual twilight that haunted the skies served as a faithful reminder to all its inhabitants that time stood still. But he continued to man his post despite the waning twilight, some small part of him still worrying about the variables.

He only decided to relinquish the helm for the night when the stars above him once again drew the shapes of legends and heroes of old. Stars that he knew.

He had been fighting back memories for hours. Travelling as they were, without a portal, they were slowly reentering not just another realm, but time itself. It meant that every particle within him was being pulled through time at a different rate, so that his body felt as if it was being stretched, while his eyes and ears perceived his surroundings at different moments, providing a discordant input that made his mind ache and his stomach roil.

The nauseating feeling and the odd sensations on his skin had been the exact same as the last time he'd made the journey by sky. Every moment of that return trip was haunting him.

Feeling the sensation finally die down while a familiar sky stretched overhead, he was relieved, confident that the magic and machinations of Neverland could no longer reach them. Which meant that his old girl could keep herself for a while. He gave a gentle caress to the wheel as he whispered his request to the wood that surrounded him.

The Jolly complied easily enough to his softly spoken words, the only thing in existence privy to the darkest depravities of his soul. It knew when he was in realms inhabited by men, he'd brought partners, men and women, to have something to have perfect control over. And on the nights when rum simply didn't run thickly enough in his veins, to have them bind and lash him in the hopes of awakening something within him. Neither ever seemed to work.

Looking back, he should have realized more quickly what the island did to people. It kept the same mental state of its victim through all the long years, unless the bloody demon decided otherwise. Despite his many years, he knew that his mind was truly not that much older than those he was in company with. Because aging of the mind is a byproduct of learning from experience and moving forward. And the island would let anything happen but that.

An eternity without change, only the haunting memory of what could have been and the darker memory of what was. The island was death in its truest sense.

But this time, it had been different. Because _she'd_ been there.

_He hadn't been able to sleep with Swan's begging echoing in his ears. It had reverberated in his mind the same way the cries of the Lost Boys always had. Another broken soul crying out to the skies under the cover of darkness. _

_After pacing his cabin for what seemed like hours, he decided to return above deck to the helm, hoping the feel of the wheel under his palm might soothe him. Before he exited his cabin, he considered taking his brace off for a little while, to allow his skin to breathe. He had been wearing his brace continuously for much longer than he was accustomed to._

_He decided that it would be best to keep his hook at the ready in case Pan, one of his little brats, or even worse, the Shadow, decided to pay his ship a visit. He headed back above deck, trying to figure out whether or not he was grateful that the quarterdeck was far enough away from the foredeck that Swan's cries could not be heard, if she was still awake. _

_The air of Neverland had always lain strangely in his tongue. Even in the depths of the jungle, it tasted stale, like dust, ancient rooms, and forgotten places. When he reached the deck, it once again seeped deeply into his chest, and he almost wanted to join Emma in her hacking and coughing. _

_He sucked in a deep breath, forcing his lungs to move steadily through several inhales and exhales until he could take in the tainted air normally. But despite his attempt to clear his mind, he continued to hear her voice in his mind._

_Tired and slightly frustrated, he checked their heading thoroughly before he retreated back to his cabin, considering how to ease his mind and Swan's discomfort. Swan would not accept his help outright. He had a few drops left of an old potion that was supposed to alleviate sickness stashed away in the small alcove hidden in the wall. He had no idea if such things lasted, but he was willing to bet that if it didn't stop her symptoms completely, it might stave them off until she found her boy. _

_Nodding to himself, he made his way to the corner of the wall between his bed and the window, finding the hatch that allowed the concealed door to slide open. A multitude of small trinkets littered the space, and Killian felt his soul ache as his eyes roamed over the memories he kept there. Each had a spell cast upon it that anchored the memories to it, acting as a talisman against the slow-leaching power of the island._

_The small portrait he had done of Milah, when she had been teaching him how to sketch in charcoal. The tag off the bag his brother always carried. An old and dented flask— all that remained of his father. A small wooden carving of a ship Bae had made for him. The ring from the finger of the first man he had killed in an act of piracy. All small tokens that had denoted changes in his life and the anchor of memories he had not wanted to lose while in the service of the little demon._

_There were other, more valuable possessions he had, that he kept stashed away, safe from thieves and his own drunken destructive urges. A precious scroll that was inscribed with the letters of a long forgotten tongue. A flawless star-stone, chased across the sky for three weeks, until he had found it. Several small vials of potions, concoctions he had acquired over his many years that he had never decided to use. _

_He once used to have a scarf, the only thing his father had ever told him belonged to their mother, one he treasured above almost every other item in his possession, and he had taken to wearing it during moments in his life when he needed an extra bit of luck or cunning. Long ago, he had avoided death of a falling beam on deck because the scarf had been snatched by the wind and he had chased after it. Had he remained where he had been standing, the beam would have crushed him. Since then, it had become a talisman for success. _

_He had tried not to think about it too much when, at the sight of Swan's injury at the top of the beanstalk, even then, he had not hesitated to bind her hand with his token of good luck and safety._

_His hand found the small bottle of elixir and he pulled the dusty glass out from its hiding spot and slid the panel back into place with his elbow. He debated with himself as to how best to go about getting Swan to accept his help. She was too proud for her own good, though he knew he was in no place to judge her, having his own mile-wide streak of pride himself. _

_He looked at the dusty old bottle in his hand, considering. She had accepted a drink from him before the whole debacle had begun. So perhaps she would be willing to accept another. He knew that she would need dry clothes as well. _

_With that thought in mind, he went to the small closet inset in the wall of the cabin, and quickly grabbed one of the linen shirts folded neatly on the shelf. He cast his eyes over the other shelves, and his eyes lit on an old pair of linen sleeping pants, and he grabbed those for her as well. _

_Once he had the clothes and had tucked the potion into his pocket, he headed towards the foremost crew's quarters. As he made his way down the passage, careful not to wake any of the others on board, he considered his approach. The closer he got, the more he disliked the idea of tricking her into drinking it. So he opted for the straightforward approach. _

_He reached the door, noting that the sobs had subsided, and, after taking a bracing breath, gently tapped his hook against the door. For a long moment, there was no movement from within and he thought that perhaps she'd found some sleep after all, and turned to return to his cabin._

"_What do you want, Hook?" her voice sounded raw and empty. _

_He turned back to her, somewhat surprised she's come to the door, quickly taking in her crossed arms and hunched shoulders. Direct was definitely the better approach. _

_He held up the articles of clothing, "I thought you might like something dry to rest in. And so you can put out your clothes to air out."_

_Her brow furrowed, and he could see her defenses rise as she assessed him, "What's the price? You get to help me change?"_

_He couldn't help the small smile on his face. "As much as I'd enjoy that, I assure you Swan, there is no price. You need to be in top form to find your son and catching your death because you slept in wet clothing isn't going to help anyone."_

_As he spoke, her eyes widened in shock and disbelief, "I- thank you." She reached out a shaky hand to accept the clothing when she broke out into coughs. He quickly ushered her back, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, both to let the other occupants of the ship sleep and to allow Swan to keep her weakness to herself. _

_Her coughing fit lasted almost three minutes, a deep worry rising up in his bones as he tried to figure out how best to offer her comfort. But when he'd tried to steady her as she hunched over with the force of her coughing, she'd shied away from his touch. It was only after she had taken a few rattling breaths and straightened, her eyelids drooping and her balance failing, that he was able to offer her some support. _

_If he'd bet on why she'd allowed it, he'd have placed his stake on her being too exhausted to protest. He gently grasped her elbows and helped guide her to a bunk to sit as a few more stray coughs worked their way free._

"_I don't understand why I'm…" her voice faded out and he watched her lightly shake her head. _

_He pulled the vial from his pocket, "I do." She looked at him sideways, confusion barely concealing the exhaustion that glazed her eyes. "You jumped in the water."_

_Swan frowned at him, "We already discussed the fact that my clothes are wet."_

_He gave a small chuckle, "Aye, we did. And if these were normal seas, that would be the extent of it. But the waters of Neverland are as twisted as the island and its master. It affects individuals slightly differently, but it as poisonous as dreamshade if consumed. And you, Swan, got two good lungfulls of it."_

_He could see the fear in her eyes at his explanation and hurried on. "Now, I have this potion here," he waved the vial in question, "that might help reduce or even completely counter the effects of whatever enchantments the water brought upon you." _

_She immediately straightened, reaching for the vial, "Then give it!" But he quickly pulled the bottle back and she snapped, "Oh, so there's a charge for this one? Of course there is. What do you want?"_

_He had to push away the sting that her words caused. "Swan, I told you there would be no price and that still holds true, but before I give this to you, I need you to understand, the enchantments of Neverland are not the same as other realms. Which means that I have no idea if this potion will work as it is intended. If it does, wonderful. But if it doesn't, it could make your condition even worse. Do you understand?"_

_Her eyes seemed to clear they carefully studied his face, and he knew she was looking for any sign of deception. And he knew she would find none. He'd chosen to be direct, after all. _

_It was several long moments before she dropped her eyes to the vial, which he'd brought back to offer to her. "I have to risk it." Then she snatched the vial from his palm, quickly uncorked it, and guzzled down the brew within. _

_Once she'd gotten every last drop from it, she brought the bottle down, a cute frown upon her face as she reacted to what he was sure was a very unpleasant taste. Then she stood, "Ok, close your eyes."_

_He was confused for a moment until he realized she had his clothing in her hand. She meant to change. Immediately, he turned away from her, trying very hard not to focus on the sounds of fabric being pulled off and on her body, interspersed with a few more coughs. It seemed like she took an eternity before she said, "I'm decent."_

_He turned back towards her and swallowed hard. Her form was engulfed by his shirt and pants and something primal in him very much appreciated that. But he hurriedly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. Now was most certainly not the time. _

_Swan flopped back down beside him on the bed. "How will I know if it worked or not?" _

_He shrugged, looking away, "I'm not quite sure. I do know that it's a sort of recovery potion, making you sleep so your body can heal more quickly, so perhaps if you start to feel drowsy?"_

_He startled then when Swan suddenly and rather forcefully slumped against his shoulder, a mumbled "I think its working" worming its way out before she was completely asleep. He chuckled quietly as he slowly manuvured away from her, gently guiding her head to the pillow, then carefully lifting her feet up on the bed as well. _

_He studied her for a moment. She looked so young, the large clothing and the relaxation of sleep gracing her with an air of innocence he knew had long since been destroyed by the life she had lived, something he understood all too well. But as he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and departed, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps such things could be revived._

_With Swan at rest, he finally managed to get a small amount of sleep. When they prepared to depart the ship the next morning to begin the trek into the forest on foot, Swan was at the lead, clothing dry and her breathing steady. He kept his eyes down and tried to hide his smile, especially when, as they began their arduous journey, she glanced back, just once, to meet his eye and offer him the smallest of nods. _

_He's not the man he once was, but perhaps he could change. For her. _

He took a step towards the hatch before remembering that Swan's lad was currently residing in his bunk, and turned with a light sigh back towards the mid deck. His feet dragged as the last several days suddenly seemed to drop heavily on his shoulders. The sleepless nights on the island finally caught up with him.

_He'd spent the nights not in rest but as the unknown guardian of the group. It was partially self-serving. He had no desire to revisit the nightmares that had haunted him during the many, many nights. But he also found himself watching Swan as she slept. It was strangely comforting to find himself breathing in time with her, the deep inhales relaxing his muscles. _

_But his study of her in her rest also let him hear the hitch in her breath, pick up the near silent whimpers when the darkness that he knew would reach her began to take hold. And when it would become clear that she couldn't fight her way free from the screams that echoed in the memories of all lost ones, he'd rise from wherever he was perched and quietly move to her side._

_The first night, he'd heard her quiet call for her son and turned, afraid that something had slipped past his guard, but when he'd reached her, he saw that she was curled up tightly on the ground, eyes flicking restlessly beneath their lids. He didn't want to shake her, knowing that his proximity would just make coming out of the nightmare even worse for her. But, as her twitching got more vigorous and her whimpers louder, he needed to do something._

_He thought back to how Liam had soothed his nightmares in his youth, before they no longer bunked together. So as carefully as he could, he sat himself down beside her and very softly, started to hum a half forgotten melody that his heart seemed to remember, though no memories came to mind. _

_He carefully eyed the rest of the group, wary of being caught, either by Swan's side as he was, or humming. Neither would do his reputation within the group any good. As he continued on for several long moments, he began to feel foolish. Swan didn't seem to be reacting to his voice. And when it became clear that she wouldn't at all, he pettered off with a sigh._

"_It's just like you Swan. Won't let me help you even in your sleep." _

_He'd made to get up when he noticed that her hand was now laying flat on the dirt, released from where she'd been clenching it under her chin. He looked at her in confusion for a moment, before a thought occurred to him that had him blushing to the roots of his hair. He shook his head, telling himself he was seven kinds of fool. But when he saw her hand start to tighten again, he couldn't help but try. _

_Anything to try and help her._

_He sat back down by her side and ever so carefully reached out to brush his fingertips along her cheek. "Easy Swan, rest easy. I'm right here. You've nothing to worry about. I'll keep an eye. You get some rest so that you'll be in top form for your boy."_

_As he whispered to her, he watched in something close to awe as her whole form started to relax and still, her face easing into something close to peace as her breathe deepened. He couldn't help the small welling of pride in his chest as he watched Swan settle into sleep. Pride that she truly did find comfort in his presence, even if she wouldn't admit it to herself in her waking hours. _

_As he fell silent, she seemed to have fully settled into sleep and he made to rise, satisfied that she would stay in her deep slumber now that she'd found it. But he'd barely made it three paces away from her sleeping form when he heard her whimper. He glanced over his shoulder and immediately saw that her sleep was again being tainted. With a rueful smile, he turned back and settled himself once again beside her. _

"_Well Swan, I have to admit, when I imagined us spending the night together, this isn't exactly what I had pictured." Even as he spoke, he couldn't help his lips pulling up into a smile as he was able to see her form relax once again. "You know, speaking of spending the night in ways I hadn't pictured, you've never heard the tale of how I ended up spending an entire fortnight married to the executioner of Telaforda- after he had attempted to remove…. Well it certainly wasn't my head, let's just put it that way." _

_He sat back, relaxing against the rock behind him, a strange sort of purpose settling over him. He continued his tale, smiling a bit at the memory. "So it all started like this. Me crew and I had just had one of the best hauls we'd gotten in years, and in all my wisdom, I decided that the men had earned extra shore leave. So we set course for the shores of … Bloody hell, I don't even remember now. But half way there, me men decide that the heads that they've kept tucked away were more than due their time in the sun. So we docked at this grand port on an island I'd never heard of. And then, you'll love this Swan, about two days after we'd made port, Starkey and I…."_

He was brought sharply out of his memory by the sound of raised voices at the end of the corridor. He stepped behind one of the ribs in the bulwark, half in shame at overhearing the argument and half in intrigue at the subject of the argument.

"I am not having this discussion right now, Neal!"

"But Ems— "

"No! You don't get to call me that." Her voice broke. There was a pause. "We got Henry back. That's the only thing that matters."

"I get that, Ems, I do. But now that we _do_ have him back, maybe it's time that we start— "

"Get out."

He stilled, a shiver of fear rolling down his spine at her words. He'd never heard that tone of voice from Swan. Not even when she'd faced off against the demon himself had her voice been so devoid of warmth and emotion.

"But Ems— "

"I _said_ get out."

"Alright, alright! You don't have to get so touchy, jeez. But maybe we can talk again once we're off this stupid boat, ok?"

"Get. Out."

He pushed himself even farther into the shadows as the door to the foremost crew's quarters was pulled open with a jerk, Baelfire silhouetted against what appeared to be the light of several candles. The man only had a passing shadow of the boy he once knew, and as he watched Baelfire head towards the midship cabins, he couldn't help but ask himself how responsible he was for the death of the boy he used to know and the dimness of the spector that still remained.

He glanced back towards the door and saw Swan watching Bealfire's retreat with a dark scowl on her face, remaining perfectly still until he heard the midshipman's quarters door slam shut. Then Swan slammed her own door shut with an oath.

He waited a few moments, debating on what to do next. He could leave Swan to her anger, but that meant he'd have to find lodging in the midshipman's quarters with Bae, which probably wouldn't end well, or back in the officer's quarters with the royals, which would be even worse.

Or he could risk Swan's ill temper.

It took him several moments to decide, but eventually he stepped out from the ribbing in the bulwark and made his way towards the door. He sucked in a quiet breath before he raised his hook and tapped lightly on the door.

"Fuck off, Neal."

He smiled in spite of himself. "Alas, due to the constricted privacy of our current lodgings, I feel that would not be in anyone's best interest."

There was silence on the other side of the door, before he heard shuffling steps. There was a thump against the wood, but the door didn't open.

"I'm not in the mood. What do you want, Hook?" her voice was muffled, and he could just picture her resting her head against the door.

His smile fell, "Would you mind if I come in love? The other bunks are a little…. erm— "

"Full of people who hate you?"

He gave a mirthless chuckle, "Aye that's about the sum of it."

The door cracked open just a smidge, and he could make out one of her eyes. "And what makes you think this bunk will be any different?"

He raised a brow at her, licking his lips as absurdly as possible. "Well, if it's you, I might just enjoy it."

He watched the single eye roll before the door opened more widely, and he was able to see her fully. She was dressed in the shirt and trousers he'd given her, her hair loose around her face, and exhaustion clear in every line of her form.

He stepped through without commenting on her attire, despite the warm glow that settled low in his belly at the sight, and closed the door behind him. Swan stood in the middle of the quarters with her arms tightly crossed, a strange and yet wary expression on her face. She looked like she was prepared for a sparring match or something.

So he just sat down on the bunk closest to the door and reached down to take one of his boots off.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't bother looking up. "Getting ready to get some sleep, Swan."

"Ser-iously?" It was how her inflection changed halfway through her word that had him looking up. Where the start was scathing disbelief, halfway through, it morphed into something soft and almost… grateful.

Her arms had loosened from where they'd been anchored around her chest, the strange expression replaced with something softer. He sat up straight. "Aye, Swan. We've all had a long few days, you more than most. I've no wish to disturb your rest, and would very much like to find some of my own."

She sat on the bunk across from him, her arms dropping to brace herself on the edge of the bunk. He waited for her to say something, but she just continued to watch him with that odd expression on her face. So after a few moments, he resumed preparing for bed.

He tugged his boot off by the heel, placing it at the end of the bed, putting its fellow next to it a moment later. He brought his foot up to the edge of the bed and began removing his socks.

"What kind of socks are those?" He looked up to see Swan eyeing them with confused interest.

"They're wool." He was a little confused as to the question, but gave her the answer anyway.

"But they're fluffy on the bottom."

"Oh," he huffed out a laugh. "It's extra padding. Unlike your realm's shoes, which I have gathered have it built in, my leather boots, and most shoes from our realm in general, do not have any padding in the soles."

"I've never seen socks like that though, even when we were in the Enchanted Forest." He heard her voice catch ever so slightly, and knew exactly what she was thinking. But he had given up that grudge the moment he'd thrown the fight at the lake. There was no point dwelling on it.

"Aye, it's much more common to have an insert that one can slide in." He paused, a bit embarrassed. Swan seemed to notice.

"But you do it this way?" There was an attempt at a teasing tone, but he could hear the genuine curiosity, like she actually wanted to know, and he was unable to deny her what she wanted. He really was seven kinds of fool.

He cleared his throat and returned to his task so he wouldn't have to look at her. "To have the normal inserts means that if they get wet while at sea, you'd have to wait for the leather its stitched to, to dry before you can use it. This way, the padding can dry and be used again fairly quickly. But mostly... I have it this way because it makes them easier to wash." He waited for her laughter, but none was forthcoming.

"I noticed you were particular about that."

He blinked, looking up at her in surprise. Now she was the one looking away with a flush across her cheeks. He raised an eyebrow. "You did?"

Swan's eyes flicked back to his as she dipped her head in a little nod. "It was actually one of the first things that I noticed when we were headed to the beanstalk, was how clean you were, even there. I couldn't smell you."

His other eyebrow raised at that, "Giving me a sniff were you, Swan?"

"Shut up. No. It just… happened sometimes." But his amusement grew with every word she spoke as the flush darkened and spread across her face. She soldiered on. "But it was really clear while we were looking for Henry. Anytime we'd stop to make camp, you'd be sure to find some nearby water and clean up. You even washed your clothes once or twice right?"

She looked up to meet his eye again. She must have caught the surprised look that flickered across his face, because she gave him a tight smile.

"I do pay attention sometimes."

He looked down at the socks in his hand, deliberately turning to place them on the edge of the wood that made up the bunk frame before standing up. Swan's eyes went wide as they followed his movement and the floor was cool beneath his bare feet.

He wondered what she was thinking.

A tense moment passed before he opted to break it by beginning to remove his duster. However, he found himself limited by the space of the cabin and his arm got stuck. He felt the mortification set in. Of bloody course he'd get stuck like a child the one time he takes the damn thing off in front of her.

But the next moment she stood up, bringing them only inches apart. He froze, looking down into her face, trying to decipher the thoughts there. But he could find nothing to clue him in and instead just marvel at how she was looking over his own face.

The next moment, she blinked lightly and gave a half shake of her head, taking a half step back. "Turn around."

"Swan?"

"Turn around so I can help you with your jacket."

He studied her for a moment longer, trying to figure out what the _bloody hell_ was going on in her maddening brain, but then she made an impatient twirling gesture with her finger, and he turned.

Her hands landed on his shoulders and slowly began to slide up and over his collar bones, towards his lapels, but he was having a hard time focusing on anything but the warmth he could feel radiating from her palms through the leather. When they found the edge of the jacket, he waited for her to pull. But her hands lingered and his swallowing was getting progressively more difficult.

"So the socks?" she asked quietly, hands still resting on his chest.

He had to clear his throat, "Uh, aye. The socks." It took him a moment to get back on track. "When I was a lad, the s- cabin boys would often be left to go without bathing for weeks at a time, and something like socks was even farther than a distant dream. And a boy, who is probably the only one I would call a friend from those years, he— " his voice caught as a surprising well of emotion bubbled up in his chest for the life of a boy long since lost.

It was just then that Emma began to help him pull his jacket off his shoulders, and he rolled them back to assist her, pushing his arms as far back as they could go.

"He got frostbite after a particularly bad storm, and the captain ordered that the toes be cut off so the death wouldn't spread any further. And the doctor on board told the captain he'd need to keep the wound clean. Obviously, he ignored that advice, refused to let him bathe, and soon enough the wounds were badly infected."

The jacket slid all the way off but he didn't hear it hit the floor. He turned to see Swan holding the collar, looking down at it with a furrowed brow.

"I didn't realize how heavy this is," she murmured as she looked up at him. He carefully reached for it, taking it from her.

"Aye, it is heavy."

She seemed to realize that his words carried more meaning than just an affirmation of the weight of his coat. Then her eyes flicked downward, taking him in. When her gaze reached his feet, he saw her smile a little, no doubt amused at his being barefoot.

And he was proven right a moment later when she looked back up, "Captain Hook, barefoot." She shook her head, before her face flushed scarlet again, and he heard her mumble, "Very bare, very big...feet."

He wasn't sure why the observation was pertinent, but if the way she was blushing was any indication, it must have a very clear meaning to her.

He allowed her a moment to compose herself by turning and hooking his coat on one of the anchor stays that had been nailed into the wall by one of his old crewmen. Even if he'd wanted to needle her, he didn't have enough context to ask the right questions to get her riled up.

He turned and sat back on the edge of the bed and his movement seemed to jar her from whatever musings still had her face all red.

"So um- the little boy?"

He nodded, looking down at his bare feet for a moment before he swung his leg up on the bunk, shifting to recline in the cramped space, sliding his arm under his head, tapping his hook against his thigh as his eyes traced the grain of the bottom of the bunk above him.

"He grew more and more sick, and it was clear he was going to die. But we were caught in another squall, so cold the sea would freeze to your lashes and hair. And I started to get frostbite." Swan gasped slightly but he continued on. "And rather than see me succumb to it, the boy took his clothing, everything he had, including the ones on his back, and used it to make makeshift socks for the others on board. And when- when we found him dead from the cold the next morning, I made myself a promise that one day, I'd be able to afford socks I could wear every day and never have my feet hurt or get cold, and I would captain a ship where no man ever got sick because he was dirty."

It sounded so juvenile saying out loud, but it was the truth. The ridiculous promises he made in his youth became intrinsic parts of who he was. A desire for comfort, cleanliness and order, loyalty to a fault. He scoffed slightly at himself, turning to look at Swan, who was herself studying him closely.

"So there you are, Swan. Why I wear socks with cushions in them."

"What was his name?"

"Pardon?" He looked over at her from where he was lying.

"What was the boy's name?"

He sucked in a breath, wanting to see how she'd react to the one truth he'd hidden from all others, even Milah. "Slaves don't get names Swan."

She blinked, and he waited for the inevitable pity that he was sure such knowledge would garner. So her next words surprised him. She always surprised him.

"Then why do you have yours?"

"Because of Liam. I'd have been lost if not for him."

To his surprise, having his brother's name on his lips didn't feel like ice in veins. It still hurt to even think his name, but now it was like the ache in his arm, a scar healed over, rather than something fresh and raw.

But he didn't want her to start asking any more questions, so he turned his head back and tried to settle himself in. "But we should rest now Swan. You'll want to be in top form for your boy."

He heard her sigh, but begin moving around, and the candlelight faded, before shuffling herself into her bunk until the cabin was silent save the music of the ship. He took a deep breath and turned on his side. He'd forgotten how uncomfortable the crew's bunks were compared to the slightly more luxurious mattress he had in his own quarters.

"Wait, you sleep in your leather pants?" she asked quietly.

He closed his eyes lightly. What a maddening woman. "No, not usually."

There was a pause, and he could hear her suck in a deep breath. "If you want to take them off you can."

He felt his whole body seize up, but offered back, "So you really are trying to get me out of my pants then Swan?"

Her scoff and lack of reply were telling.

He debated leaving his pants on, but now that he'd received her permission, he was rather glad to not have to spend another night in them. So he wiggled on his side a bit and managed to kick the trousers off his legs from underneath the blanket. He wondered what might have happened if he'd gotten stuck and required her assistance to get out of those as well.

The thought made him grin as he settled in, closing his eyes and trying to will his mind empty of naught but the sweet music of the only place he'd ever called home.

He had just reached the cusp of sleep when he heard her give a cry. He immediately flipped around to see Swan thrashing again in her sleep. But it only took a few moments to realize that it was not the same as the nightmares she had on the island. Her thrashing was more violent, her cries more fearful. And he suspected he knew why. Neverland made you dream of what could happen. But this was a dream of what already had.

He sat up, feeling the cool wood beneath his bare feet and the scratch of the worn blanket and mattress against his thighs, warily watching Swan as her movements became more and more erratic, her cries louder and easier to discern.

"Hook!"

He jerked as she called out his name, her fear and anguish palpable. For a moment he thought she may have woken, but then her movements became even more violent. Then without warning, the hem of the blanket on his lap caught fire.

He jumped up, tossing the fabric to the ground and quickly tamping out the fire with his foot. He hurriedly swept the room, checking to see if there may have been a still lit candle, but the room was shrouded in darkness.

"NO HOOK!"

His belly clenched at her frantic scream. But that's when he saw it. Flames dancing from her palms and fingertips.

"HOOK!" Her scream resonated in his memory and suddenly he understood. The fear. The fire.

Dark Hollow.

"NO!" She threw out her hand, a massive column of fire engulfing her whole arm as she reached for something in her dream, and began to topple right off of the bunk. He acted without thinking, diving forward to catch her, hissing as her blazing arm pressing into his thigh and he could feel his skin bubbling under the intense heat.

"Swan. Swan!" He was terrified with how she was flailing, she'd injure herself, especially on his hook.

"HOOK!"

"EMMA WAKE UP!"

She jolted so hard in his arms that he had to fall back against the siding behind him to keep toppling onto her, the fire licking up her arm vanishing abruptly. She fell into his lap, clearly still trying to claw her way back to awareness, quite literally, her hands scrabbling to find something to latch onto and steady herself with.

Her hair was wild and her eyes were wide and frantic as she locked on to his face, her hands gripping at his shoulders.

"Hook." Her voice was softer than a whisper, her gaze dancing across his face as if searching for something.

"Aye, love, I'm right here," he whispered quietly, running his hand up and down her arm, trying to ground her back into reality.

"You're ok. They didn't get your shadow. You're ok." Her hands were shaking as they ran up and down his neck, as if trying to verify what her eyes were telling her. He'd never seen her so exposed, her guard completely down as fear continued to swim in her eyes.

So very carefully, he found her hand and lightly encircled her wrist, slowly bringing it up to his face, letting her fingers brush his cheek as he whispered, "Aye, love. I'm alright. You saved me, remember? My shadow is right where it belongs, yeah?"

Her eyes followed her fingers as they caressed along his jaw, along the edge of his lips, under his eyes.

The sensation was maddening. It soothed him down to his very soul, quieting the roiling tempest that had long lingered there. But at the same time, it made his skin burn with a fire that had nothing to do with Swan's unintentional flames. His soul was calmed even as his body was set aflame.

As Swan continued to trace his features, he was able to watch her eyes clear and focus, the gray edge of steel returning to the verdant green there. "Yeah. You're ok."

She whispered the words with something like relief, but there was still a dark shadow of doubt in her eyes. Like she wanted to be sure.

Without warning, she surged forward, kissing him hard, one hand still braced on his shoulder, the other sliding from his cheek into his hair, clutching harshly at the strands between her fingers.

His eyes fluttered shut against his will. It was even better than their first kiss. It consumed him.

His gut clenched as his hand searched blindly for some part of her to hold on to, finding her thigh, his senses overwhelmed with her smell and the feel of her kiss. And even as he fell into the sensation of her lips, he became starkly aware that he was wearing only a linen shirt that had probably ridden up when he'd fallen backwards and Swan was sitting squarely in his lap. Right on top of some very bare and very interested parts of his anatomy.

He felt her demand entrance to his mouth and gave way under the pressure of her lips. Her grip on his hair tightened, tugging his head to angle their kiss and he felt each pull spark down his spine.

His legs were trembling in an effort to keep still as she became more and more enthusiastic, her hips rolling as she tried to get closer to him. The heat of her body was warmer than any afternoon sun, and he could not help but pull at her leg, desperate to have her closer.

She shifted again, her arm wrapping around to claw at his back, and he broke the kiss on a groan, the weight and heat of her right where he'd always wanted her.

"Gods," the oath slipped past his lips on a breath. She hadn't pulled back, her forehead resting against his, and he felt her nod slightly in agreement. She shifted again and a shiver ran down his spine, landing in his lower back and pooling in a well of desperate need, and against his will, his hips bucked up against her, drawing a sharp breath out of her in return.

It was enough to clear his mind, though, and he forced his eyes open. "Swan." His voice was hoarse and every fiber within him was screaming at him to continue. But he needed to know, needed this to be more than just fear.

But she didn't seem to want the same. At her name, she shook her head and dove in for another kiss, distracting him for a moment with her tongue. But after a moment he was able to get a hold of his libido and pull away again.

"Swan."

"No." The word was desperate. Like she was begging him.

But he persisted. No tickery. Not even using her own body against her. "Swan." He brought his hand up to caress her cheek. Her face pinched tight before she opened her eyes, and he could see the desperate plea in them, before she closed them and turned to nuzzle into his hand, brows pinched tight.

"What do you want of me, love?"

He asked the question, not sure if he wanted an answer. But he needed to know. Because if she was just using him, he would stop her. He would not allow her to regret, not something like this.

She didn't open her eyes, but he was able to see tears leaking from beneath her lids, and he felt every one he brushed away with his thumb like acid on his skin.

"I feel empty." Her voice was hoarse and he just wanted to pull her in and cradle her. "I have Henry back and I can't feel happy. I suddenly have parents, and I'm not glad. I have a home to go to, and I don't miss it at all." She sucked in a shuddering breath. Then opened her eyes. "Please. I just want to feel good. I just want to feel _something_. Please."

He studied her and saw the truth of her words in the weight on her shoulders and the depth of the lines on her face, making sure that his thoughts were not too muddled by the painful throbbing of his member as he decided. He could never refuse her anything.

"Alright, Swan." He deliberately rolled his hips upwards and she shuddered. Then trying to redirect her thoughts and dry her tears, he continued, "Although if it's all the same to you, might we continue this somewhere with a few less splinters? Otherwise they'll be a true pain in my ass."

She only gave a small huff of laughter, but the lines around her eyes lessened slightly. She sat back, his body crying out in protest, raising just slightly to slide back onto the bed. He watched her settle before rising himself, hiding his wince as the burn on his thigh stretched. That was a burden she didn't need to bear.

He got his feet under him as she kicked off her own pants, feeling his cock bob against his belly under the hem of the linen shirt he was still wearing. He watched her face as he stepped closer, searching for the slightest hesitation, but the desperate hunger in her eyes didn't dim. She canted her hips upward, an invitation he couldn't resist.

He stepped forward, but dropped to his knees next to the bunk, making her brow furrow, but before she could second guess anything, he grabbed her ankle and tugged her around so that the lower half of her legs were dangling over the edge of the bunk. She seemed to catch on and swung one leg over his head to rest on his shoulder.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of her, and the sight of her open core before him was almost enough to push him over the edge. But he inhaled her musk deeply before he ran his hand up and down her thigh, glancing up at her face as she rested awkwardly upright against the bulwark.

"You just relax, Swan. Let me take care of you."

She nodded hurriedly as her heel pushed against his back, urging him forward. He gave in gladly, burying his face between her thighs. Her hands slid into his hair in a vice like grip that made his cock throb painfully. But he focused on the little sounds she was making, the way her hips twitched, the speed of her breathing. He traced every little movement, desperate to ingrain the sensation in his mind and even more desperate to find exactly how to please her.

As her hips began to move more earnestly against his mouth, her hands pulling him even closer to her, he moved his hand from her thigh to slide two fingers into her welcoming heat. She gave the softest of gasps, hips jerking.

He pumped them slowly as he let the tips of his fingers drag along the top of her core, trying to find her hidden spot. He could feel her impatience at his pace until his fingers dragged along the patch of flesh he was looking for, her back arching away from the siding as she practically pulled his hair out. Then he quickly pulled her nub between his lips and sucked.

She went still, her teeth gritted and her eyes shut, her face screwed up in pleasure as he felt her walls tighten around him. Her peak was brief, a few seconds passing before she loosened her hold on his hair, but she was still limp and panting as he pulled away.

He wanted more. He wanted to spend his time finding every secret spot her body had to offer. He wanted to taste the difference between a slowly built climax and one that was brought on in an instant.

But as her eyelids fluttered open, he saw that the shadows had not receded. She still needed him. And his body had about reached its limit. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hard, so when she gave a deliberate tug on his hair, he willingly went.

The bunks of the crew's quarters were not conducive to such activities, but with a few careful movements, they managed to get settled on the mattress. He stared down at her, braced on his knees and forearms, his whole body singing at the feeling of her bare legs against his own. Her eyes looked almost grey in the faint moonlight and her hair looked like liquid silver laid out against her pillow.

"Please."

He heeded her plea, shifting his weight to take himself in hand, a tremble passing over him at the feeling. Gods, it had been so long since he'd lain with someone, and even longer with someone he cared about. It was as if every inch of skin was feeling every sensation twice over. It was overwhelming.

He rubbed his member through her folds, eyes rolling up in his head as he forced himself to push into her slowly. As he slid in, it was like coming home. He managed to get his eyes open to look down at her face as he shifted his weight above her again.

Her mouth was open in a silent moan of pleasure as he pushed more deeply into her. By all the gods, she was beautiful. He wanted to whisper that to her, to tell her all the things that burned in his chest when he was near her, to make love to her with his words as much as his body.

But he knew better.

So he bit back the words that so desperately wished to slip free and just pulled back, savoring the slide and the twitches of pleasure that danced across her face. Then he rolled his hips back in, his stomach muscles trembling under the strain of holding himself back.

They fell into a rhythm as constant and powerful as the tides upon which they sailed, pushing and pulling, her hands grabbing at his thighs to pull him deeper, legs falling open wider to draw him closer.

But she kept her eyes shut.

It was as if she thought that if she couldn't see him, she could pretend it was all a dream, that it didn't happen. That it was a one time thing.

"Faster." Her voice wavered as she pulled him a little more harshly, eyes clamped tightly as she tried to chase her pleasure higher. But he refused to let her run. Not this time.

He went completely still, his body calling him the seven types of fool he was, but it had the desired effect. Her eyes snapped open, something like panic in them.

"What? No-" he cut her off with a hard snap of his hips. His lips tingled with the memory of her kiss and he ached to lower his mouth to hers, but even now, he refused to initiate. She's said one time, and he'd let her decide otherwise. But he wouldn't let her hide.

"Eyes on me, Swan."

He saw something flash deep in her eyes as she looked up at him, but they quickly glazed over as he snapped his hips more vigorously into her. By all the gods, it was like heaven between her thighs. He wasn't sure how much longer he was going to last and he didn't want to shift to reach down for her clit, lest he accidentally harm her with his hook. But a moment later, he felt the telltale trembling in her legs and realized that she must be close.

Then something flickered at the corner of his vision, and he broke eye contact with her to see what it was.

The doused candle was alight.

He turned back to her as a swell of satisfaction rose up in his chest, driving his hips harder, deeper. She was losing control. Because of him.

He felt her ripple around him, her eyes fluttering as she grit her teeth again. Then the smallest cry of ecstasy slipped from her lips and it was too much for him, his orgasm washing over him in an almost excruciating release.

He continued to snap his hips into her, and he knew her release was just moments away. Then her hand shifted, and her palm slid over his chest to rest above his heart. The next moment, her nails dug in as her eyes closed and she clenched tightly around him. It was perfect agony.

Once the last of her tremors ceased, he slowly pulled out. Her eyes were still closed, her palm pressed against his chest. He waited for a moment, to see if she'd move, but when she kept still, he sighed. He should have known better.

He started to shift to get off the bed, one leg on the floor, when her hand clenched his shirt, tugging him to a stop. He paused.

"Thank you." It was soft as a whisper, her eyes still closed, her brow furrowed. "I know that you- I just can't right now."

He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling like the warmth of her hand was seeping straight into his heart. He covered her hand with his own, feeling how cold they were and their light tremble. Gods, this woman.

"I know, Swan." He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. "I know." He maneuvered to bring her hand to his lips, and he was pleased when a small smile slid across her lips.

He carefully placed her hand on the bedspread, running his fingertips lightly up her arm, and unable to resist the urge, he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead before straightening. He didn't trust himself to see what her reaction was to the slip up, though, so with one last pat to her hand, he stood.

"Hook, I-"

"Hush, Swan, sleep," he whispered as he returned to his bunk. "You need to rest up, you'll be home soon." He settled on his back, letting the exhaustion of release wash over him. With Swan's calm breathing, his own satiated lust, the exhaustion of their time on the island, and the affection that glowed within him even amidst the tumult of emotions, he found himself easily finding sleep.

As he drifted off, he thought he might have heard her give a sleepy mumble, "Maybe I already am."

For the first time in years, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
